


Easy, Not Sleazy

by fatcatwrites



Category: Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, smut and stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-29
Updated: 2014-09-29
Packaged: 2018-02-19 05:05:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2375669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fatcatwrites/pseuds/fatcatwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So there's those charity auction fundraiser things where they sell 'dates'<br/>this is it</p>
<p>A/N: Just gonna drive home the point that <em>all the sex is consensual</em>. That's all. In case it's not clear enough in the fic. I'm super uncomfortable with non-con and most dub-con, so you're not going to find those in any of my writing.</p>
<p>Also thanks to <a href="http://thacmis.tumblr.com">thacmis</a> for the input and encouragement :3</p>
            </blockquote>





	Easy, Not Sleazy

Loki sighs in exasperation as Sigyn fusses with his hair _again_ , smoothing it back from his face for the fifth time in the past hour. 

 

He’s dressed in his best suit (his _only_ tailored suit, really, but it’s not like he goes to enough events to need more than one), clean-shaven and utterly, boringly, _perfectly_ presentable, because this is for his best (only) friend and he owes her (most recently for that time with the fire hydrant).

 

And it’s not like he had any other plans on a Saturday night or anything.

 

Nope.

 

All he’s missing is his favourite show (which he can record, yes, but it’s not the same) and cuddles with his cat (which is certainly the most regrettable part of the evening).

 

_Ah, well. At least there’s free food._

 

Free food that Loki has been unable to reach because Sigyn _won’t stop fussing_. But he bears it, because this is for her, because this is the only way he can thank her for all that she’s done for him (because actually _saying_ thank you never even crossed his mind).

 

Sigyn is his childhood friend and the sole benefactor of his shitty, shitty art.

 

Loki sighs, and finally straightens when she deems his appearance acceptable; then she shoos him towards the doors with directions to _mingle_ and moves off to the person behind him.

 

And so he goes.

 

—

 

It’s not that Loki is _incapable_ of holding conversation; he just has very little patience with speaking to men and women who size him up like a piece of meat in a butcher shop (which, okay, he _is_ here to look aesthetically pleasing, but it grates on him, how they treat him as a doll).

 

All he has to do is smile and nod along, bite back his scathing comments, and he could probably raise a few thousand dollars for Sigyn, easy.

 

(It’s not easy.)

 

At least they don’t touch him. Sigyn had been adamant about a very thorough screening process for everyone involved in this fundraiser. No one who got past those double doors had even a whisper of a rumour of misbehaviour on their records. 

 

It made the event that much more exclusive (and pretentious).

 

Which Loki should not complain about, because all these rich people could be potential buyers of his art. It’s not a crowd he normally has access to, but he finds it hard to summon the energy to _network_.

 

—

 

It’s not all bad. He meets a few decent folks who seem genuinely interested in what he has to say. They’re mostly seniors, but Loki _knows_ he would prefer to spend an evening with a grandmother than with some handsome asshole whose charming smile could bring puppies back to life.

 

(Priorities, right? But a grandmother would leave him with cookies instead of a broken heart.)

 

It’s not something he can control, though. He has an hour and a half to charm the wallets out of as many guests as he can before he’s called backstage with the rest of the volunteers for biddings to start.

 

It’s all going swimmingly.

 

—

 

There are rules as to how this sort of thing goes down:

 

There is no touching during the initial meet and greet.

After winning the bid, the winner gets the rest of the evening with their chosen companion

The evening must be spent in the hotel (there’s a restaurant, pool, all the fixings).

There are rooms available for use, but sex must be consensual.

 

Loki doesn’t have high hopes for the evening; while there are plenty of attractive people in the crowd, none of the really strikes his fancy.

 

He’s probably going to skip out on the sex, despite his nine-month dry spell.

 

—

 

And then Loki’s name is called. 

 

He walks across the stage in long, steady strides, stopping at the marked spot and turning to face the audience. With his hands clasped behind his back and legs spread shoulder width apart, Loki adopts an air of cold superiority that he’d perfected over the years.

 

“Starting price at fifteen hundred,” Sigyn calls, and Loki listens with amusement as the bidding war begins.

 

The numbers are pretty standard until someone decided they wanted him _bad_ , and then calls out the ridiculous amount of twenty thousand.

 

And then someone _else_ decided that they wanted him bad as well, and raised the price to thirty.

 

And then _they kept going_.

 

Truly, a bidding war.

 

—

 

The winning bid amounts to no less than a quarter of a million dollars.

 

Apparently, some _idiot_ just had far too much money and simply had _no idea_ how to get a proper date.

 

Which is great for Sigyn and her charity, really, but now Loki is feeling like he really _should_ have sex with this idiot, just for the principle of the thing.

 

He’s still considering it when his ‘date’ finds him.

 

—

 

His name is Thor, and Loki’s initial assessment doesn’t fall far from the truth.

 

Thor is probably the _biggest_ idiot Loki’s ever met.

 

Because not only is he rich, he’s _gorgeous_. Tall, blond, and hot enough that Loki misses the rest of Thor’s introduction because he’s picturing all that massive bulk pinning him down and _doing wicked things_.

 

And then the idiot is holding out his hand and Loki is just staring at it for far too long.

 

Loki snaps his jaw shut with an audible _click_ , flushing at Thor’s _infuriating_ smirk. Like he knows what Loki’s been thinking.

 

A brief handshake is exchanged, but it’s enough for Loki to feel each individual callous on the palm of Thor’s hand. More than enough for him to imagine those callouses on different parts of his body.

 

Yup, he’s _definitely_ sleeping with this idiot.

 

—

 

“So, what do you do,” Thor asks. His eyes shine with genuine interest from across the table, and Loki wants to lean over and lick into his mouth.

 

They’re sharing dessert, like it’s a proper date or something.

 

“Just art stuff,” he mumbles, not really wanting to get into his personal life; it’s just the one night, after all, and there’s no use in getting too caught up. 

 

(He ignores the ridiculous pang in his chest at the thought of only one night with Thor.)

 

“What do you want to do next?”

 

Thor shrugs, wide shoulders shifting and rolling in a smooth, effortless motion that has Loki _salivating_.

 

It’s hopeless. _He’s_ hopeless.

 

(As if he weren’t a goner the second he laid eyes on Thor.)

 

—

 

What they end up doing next is making out in front of the elevator doors as they wait for them to arrive. They’re so wrapped up in each other that multiple clearings of throats and awkward shuffles are drowned out by breathy moans as they try to devour each others’ mouths.

 

And when they finally do break away for air, they’re alone again, unaware of there ever having been other people passing by.

 

—

 

Loki _thrives_ in Thor’s heated gaze as he slowly strips down to nothing. He sways his hips, just a little, just to watch Thor’s pupils dilate, just to hear his breath hitch.

 

The sense of _power_ further fuels his lust, makes him heady with want.

 

And when Loki sinks down onto his knees, strokes Thor’s (rather impressive) girth with his hands and his lips and his tongue, chokes on it eagerly with an unprecedented desperation, well. Loki would be lying if he said he did not enjoy that, too.

 

Thor pulls him off much too soon; Loki wants Thor to paint his face and chest with his spend, to  _make_ him swallow it down and fill him up, until it leaks from his lips to mingle with tears and spit and pre-come.

 

Loki tells Thor all this, and Thor reacts as beautifully as he could have expected. 

 

He’s flipped onto his back, legs pried apart, and Thor’s thick digits are working into him one at a time, slick with lube.

 

Loki comes with two of Thor’s fingers in his ass, stretching him open and rubbing him _just_ right, driving relentlessly against his prostate. It’s too much, afterwards, but Thor keeps going; he even adds a third finger, and Loki is _mortified_ to find his cock twitching again in interest.

 

And then he’s too busy moaning Thor’s name to feel anything other than pure, unadulterated pleasure.

 

It takes an eternity for Thor to be satisfied with the stretching; he adds a fourth finger, eventually, but pulls his hand out soon afterwards. Loki moans at the loss, his hole slick and empty and too loose to close properly, and finds himself flipped onto his stomach without much fanfare.

 

Thor pulls his hips up, holds him there as he starts to push in slowly. And _oh_ , but even after all that stretching, it’s a tight fit.

 

Thor stops, halfway in, and runs soothing lines against Loki’s backside. He murmurs soft encouragements, continues them even as he spreads Loki’s cheeks apart and starts _pushing_ again.

 

Loki had forgotten how _good_ it could be, when his partner knew what they were doing. There’s more to be had with that train of thought, but Loki files it away for later, has little choice in the matter when he’s near delirious with how good Thor feels, as if he’s _burning_ him from the inside out.

 

Loki has never felt so _full_ in his life, and Thor is still going. By the time Thor’s finally, _finally_ , seated fully within him, Loki is incoherent from the stretch of it.

 

They stay like that for a while. 

 

—

 

He’s not sure how much time has passed, but Thor is clearly nearing the end of his patience when Loki’s ready for him to move again.

 

They start off slowly, Thor grinding in _hard_ at the end of each shallow thrust as he searches for that perfect angle.

 

When he finds it, Loki nearly screams for how good it feels, wishes he could push back against Thor and take him deeper, but Thor’s hands hold him in place as he pounds relentlessly into Loki’s hole.

 

Loki takes it with a sob, unable to hold back his whimpers as Thor continues to bully his prostate, and Loki truly is seeing stars at this point. He feels his orgasm building, heat coiling at the base of his spine, and this time when he comes, he _does_ scream, louder and higher than he ever has in his life.

 

And then he passes out.

 

—

 

Loki bites back a groan as he slowly regains consciousness; he feels like he’s gone a round with a steamroller and, predictably, got _rolled over_.

 

And then he remembers where he is, and why, and jerks awake to see Thor’s sleeping face next to his.

 

The last thing Loki remembers is coming his brains out, so he’s not sure if Thor finished after that. 

 

He probably did, though.

 

Loki pushes away the faint twinges of guilt (and the first stirrings of rekindled lust) as he limps towards the bathroom. There, he showers and washes off all evidence of last night, and is met with the undeniable truth that that was by far the best sex he’s _ever_ had. And he’ll probably be measuring all his future partners against Thor now, too.

 

_Goddammit_ but he’s ruined. Forever. No one could possibly measure up to that.

 

Loki could cry at that, if he were so inclined. Instead, he dresses quietly in the dark and leaves his name and number on the hotel stationary by the nightstand.

 

_It’s worth a shot_.

 

—

 

When Loki finally gets home, he feels foolish for having left his number behind. He probably embarrassed himself with how quickly he’d come last night, and as the day wears on, he gets more and more discouraged.

 

It was only supposed to be one night. He knows that.

 

He is not a slave to his libido.

 

He’s _not_.

 

The phone rings, and Loki’s answered it before he even knows what he’s doing, speaker pressed against his ear as his heart pounds in his chest.

 

But it’s only Sigyn, calling to check in on him after last night. Loki does his best to keep his disappointment out of his voice, but he’s not entirely sure he succeeds. 

 

They chat for a while, and Loki toys with the idea of asking Sigyn for Thor’s number.

 

He doesn’t, in the end. He’s not _desperate_. 

 

—

 

The phone rings again not a minute after Sigyn hangs up, and Loki answers it expecting it to be her, reminding him about some deadline or other.

 

But instead there’s a gruff voice at the other end of the line, as if he’d just woken up (or, alternatively, swallowed a handful of gravel, but that’s unlikely).

 

“Hey. It’s Thor.”

**Author's Note:**

> may possibly be more instalments of this 'verse  
> gimme yo feedback  
> (please)
> 
>  
> 
> [x-posted to tumblr](http://fatcatfishdish.tumblr.com/post/98689304029/title-easy-not-sleazy-pairing-loki-thor)


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